


In the Blood

by MarsFlameSniper



Category: American Horror Story: Hotel
Genre: Blood, F/F, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-14 14:11:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18477856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarsFlameSniper/pseuds/MarsFlameSniper
Summary: You stick the needle in, let the toxins in. Your body's crying more, more, and she's your sweet release. But like all good things, she's fleeting.





	In the Blood

There's light jazz playing over the radio, static warping the melody as the numbers flick over to 3:47 am. Eyes rolling back in her head, Sally laughs breathlessly, the pulse of chemicals in her blood doing exactly as she'd needed them to.

She needs. Needs. Needs so much she's often choking in the agony of it. Her fingers curl into the bedsheets below her as her body writhes, lost in the throes of cheap booze and good drugs. It numbed the wanting. Sometimes.

The sensations overwhelm her, and she drowns herself in them.

Everything moves too much and not enough, as though she's on a broken fairground ride. She lets her mind wander, and the idea makes her smile. Wander? She's exactly where she wants to be.

Thoughts buzz through her brain as the world falls away and she remembers to unclench a fist from the soiled bedding, throwing her arm clumsily to the side. Fingers scrabble on the bedside table and she must have hit the volume dial on the radio because the sound of trumpets swells deafeningly to her addled brain. She at last finds what she's searching for, slamming the letter opener through the machine until she's granted blessed silence.

Smirking, she pulls it free, lazily positioning the blade above her collarbone. Almost at odds with her disoriented state, she's able to draw the edge in a perfectly straight line across her skin. Heat and pain spread through her chest in equal measure, but she pushes away the urge to run her fingers through the blood she can feel pulsing from the wound.

It streaks down her body, pooling between her breasts, and it's there she lets it sit. Waiting.

The touch that finally comes, between one breath and the next, is not where she expects however. A fingertip wipes at her cheeks, at the tears that had fallen there, though Sally couldn't remember when they'd been shed.

A sound replaces the silence, a gentle shushing. A hand presses to her cheek, and she presses into the touch.

“You came,” she slurs. But the figure above her says nothing. She's not surprised though, nor is she concerned. Talking was never on her mind when she came here.

That same finger finally draws through the blood that marks her, the woman above sampling the taste as though it were an intricate work of culinary art. It smears across her tongue, and Sally feels a lopsided grin take over her mouth as she watches the intriguing mixture of disgust and rapture play across her face.

The discarded needle at her side is picked up, regarded, and Sally allows herself to become lost in the visage of the woman at her bedside. Carved of alabaster she seemed to be, her features too striking to be called beautiful, yet too soft to be called handsome. If she were more lucid, she supposes she could write the melody of her. An opus even.

But that's another life.

They'd never exchanged names, but that had only seemed to be at her disadvantage. On the rare occasions her companion spoke, Sally's name fell from her lips as though it were sacred. Revered.

“ _How will I know how to contact you?”_

She'd asked, many months ago. Her companion had smiled, risen from the bed that they had shared, but said nothing. Leaving as silently as she had arrived. Sally had watched her go, a hollowness in her chest she couldn't quite attribute to the drugs that had long since fled her system.

Then she'd turned back around, intent upon the ashtray, and paused. Marvelled at the splatters of blood across the linens that had most certainly _not_ been there when she'd sat down to shoot up all those hours ago.

“Well hot damn.”

How long ago that was, she couldn't really remember.

The voice of her strange bedfellow chases the recollection from her mind, and she marvels in the sound, the richness of it. The power.

“As always, you arouse a feeling of...sublime revulsion, darling.”

“You won't tell me to quit though,” Sally replies, knowingly. Her companion smiles, lowers her head and drags her tongue across her chest. Her eyes never break contact with Sally's own, flashing with desire. The sensation breaks through the fugue that has slipped over her mind and she gasps, chest heaving. The pressure of another body atop her own soon becomes apparent and she closes her eyes, sighing roughly as she feels hands push down the straps of her dress.

Nails catch across her skin, sharp enough to cut, yet the burn of pain feels insignificant next to the pleasure it creates low in her belly. The fabric is brought lower, and the roaming palms are replaced with a mouth tasting every inch of ruin that has been wrought. Unbidden, Sally's hips rise from the bed. A thigh slides between her own and her body feels aflame with every brush of skin against skin. The hands that had been at her chest begin the pull at her dress until the fabric is rucked up to her hips, the touches that had begun as delicate, almost sensual, becoming more urging. Animal.

The need in her responds to the urgency rising between them, and she finds one of her own hands running a path over the woman above her, from the nape of her neck to the curve of her ass. She responds to the touch, and the thigh pushes further. Every inch it climbs higher is the further undoing of her, the lamplight blurring before her eyes as she tips her head back in ecstasy. The hungry mouth at her chest pulls away for a moment, before its owner brings it higher, slamming it against her own. They stay locked together, Sally can already tell her lips will be furiously swollen until long after the sun has risen and set, and she does her best to respond in kind.

All too soon however, those lips pull away from hers, and she moans in protest. A smile that is all teeth her response.

“Good things come to those who wait, love,”

She laughs at that, licking her lips in anticipation as she watches her progression back down her body. Hands rest upon her bare knees, and she can't help but quiver in excitement as those magnificent blonde locks vanish beneath her dress.

All at once she's overcome and she cries out, can't quite help herself. Nor can she help the way her thighs spread wider, an invitation for more that is gladly accepted. It begins languidly, but Sally knows that won't last, the thought of what's soon to come more effective an aphrodisiac than even the most scintillating of foreplay.

“God...” she sighs. The back of her hand falls across her eyes and she lets her world be enveloped by the moment. Her mind burns, fuelled by the substances inside her. Soon the sighs turn into screams, pleas begin to fall from her mouth uncontrollably as the magnitude of her need grows and grows with each passing second, each tender press.

All too soon she's coming undone, her words becoming nonsense before they're even formed and she's trembling in both joy and grief. Through the bursts of pleasure that wrack through her, she knows all too well what comes next. Their dance never changes.

Powerless to stop it, her body spent, all she has the energy to do is draw breath. Legs limp, they collapse back onto the mattress as her companion draws backwards, that golden halo of hair resplendent even to her dimming vision. Her cheeks are wet, tears wrecking clumsily applied dollar store mascara, but the fingers that wipe it away once more are eiderdown, as though she were spun of silk. Delicate. Desired. _Wanted_.

“Please stay...” she manages to mumble. Already a chill settles over her, empty and alone in more ways than one.

The only reply, as ever, is the silence.

 

 


End file.
